Wonderland
by AngolMoaChan
Summary: Hetalia AU Paradise, Utopia, Wonderland. Whatever you wanted to call it, it was their peaceful home. But what happens when one country becomes ambitious...greedy? The answer: The Heart, the Diamond, and the Club are in for the fight of their lives.
1. Chapter 1

Wonderland

AngolMoaChan

**Hello all! After reading an amazing AU APH fic (If you haven't read You Can't Take the Sky From Me, punch yourself. Then go read it.) I decided to start one of my own. You'll see the universe once we start, kay? Pairings inside will be multiple, but I can guarantee you some Tomato Lovin and some US/UK.**

**:D**

* * *

The crystalline white of the moon and stars shone against the inky black streak of the sky, lighting a dim path along the way towards a magnificent, black stone castle. A young man walked along the dirt road, past brown fence posts keeping heirloom tomatoes from blooming into the path under his feet. The man reached over and plucked one from across the fence, examining it under the moonlight; red skin, green leaves. It was obviously very ripe, and very ready to be eaten.

"Brother?" asked a voice from behind the male, too cheerful—a girl stepped out from the shadows, twirling a knife in her hand. "Can we attack them now? Please?"

"Bela," the man said softly, a small smile on his face as he examined the tomato, tossing it from hand to hand, "In time."

"But—when we attack them, then they can join us and the you and I, we--we can get married, married married--!" The girl's voice grew in pitch, the knife glinted; she put her arms around the tall man's neck.

He took in a deep breath, the steel brushing the scarf around his neck. "Belarus…in time, they will be one with us, da? Perhaps…tomorrow will be the day."

"Tomorrow? Tomorrow we can attack, Brother Russia?"

A smile crossed the one called Russia's face. Innocent as the gesture was, on him it was downright dark. He closed his fingers; the tomato in his hand exploded, leaving a splatter of red pulp on the ground below him. "Yes. Tomorrow."

The girl laughed and let go of him, walking beside her brother as their feet squished in the red paste below.

* * *

It was warm, it was cozy, and Lovino "Romano" Vargas, was feeling incredibly comfortable. The lanky young man was in his bed, the sunshine barely streaming into his closed eyes, and for once, he felt perfectly, happily, at peace. He blinked slowly, lazily opening his eyes and letting out a yawn. Romano smiled sleepily and cuddled into a ball, feeling the warmth of the covers that…weren't there.

Romano blinked. Wait a second.

He slowly looked down; wrapped around his midsection, his _naked _midsection, were the tan arms of someone else.

The brown-haired man would have shrieked, had he not known who it eyebrow twitched slightly, and he snarled, "Spain."

The figure behind him was that of an older man, with a shock of messy, dark brown hair and tan skin. He was smiling as he nuzzled his face into the crook of Romano's neck, and in no way shape or form did the one being "nuzzled" find that okay. "Spain" as he had called him, mumbled aimlessly into Romano's skin and sighed happily. "Mmm?"

"SPAIN, YOU BASTARD, GET OFF OF ME!"

With a loud, angry roar, Romano threw the arms of the other off of him, and in a flurry of sheets and limbs, the dark haired man hit the ground. "Oofah!"

"What the hell did you think you were doing in my bed?! God_dammit, _Spain!"

The one called Spain finally detangled himself from the white sheets to peer up at Romano with innocent green eyes. "Romanito, you sound so accusatory! It was cold and lonely in my room, so I came to visit you!"

"Don't call me that!" He blushed as he pulled on his boxers. Romano normally slept naked, there was nothing wrong with that, but waking up with Spain beside him…that was weird. Really weird. "You're supposed to be a _king, _you damn bastard."

Spain stood up and stretched, yawning luxuriously. He moved over to the doorway and grinned at his former bedmate. "Now, now, Romano. I'm going to get dressed, so can you meet me in the boardroom in a few minutes?"

Romano frowned as he grabbed a button-down shirt from a wardrobe in the corner. "Fine, whatever."

"And Romano…"

"What?"

"Make sure you don't go there looking like that. People might thing something's going on between us." Spain winked cheekily and shut the door as a pillow sailed into the spot just where his head had been.

-

Spain frowned at his reflection in a full size mirror. Wearing preposterously fancy clothes—a great red coat, a ruffled collar, and dark black pants--the dark haired man irritably adjusted the button on his chest, a black, latticework heart on an ivory circle. He reached over the mirror and carefully placed a small, golden crown atop of his dark hair, then sighed. "Time to face the day, _your highness._"

Spain turned on his heel and headed out of the doorway. Just like any other great kingdom, the Heart Monarchy was a proud tradition passed on from his grandfather, to his father, and now down to him. Padding lightly down the carpeted corridors of the castle, Spain paused to look out of one of the great, arching windows.

Below him lay the city of Lovelace, the country's capital. The streets were alive with merchants and townspeople alike, milling from stand to stand amongst the cobblestone streets, going about their days with cheer. Beyond the people, and the old, warm brick buildings, beyond the hubbub and clatter of the city, lay miles of greenery, stretched out and dotted with paint drops of red—tomatoes, his country's prized export. He smiled; there was something so calmly refreshing about the sight of a nation at peace.

"Hey, Spain! Are you coming into the damn meeting room or not?"

Spain turned away from the window to see Romano, looking impatiently at him. A smile crossed his face and he nodded, bounding down the hallway towards his right hand man, "Yes, yes~! I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Romano rolled his eyes as he turned around, shifting his hands into the pockets of his military uniform. Why Spain thought that the birthday party for his military captain was so important, he would never understand.

* * *

It started as a small house fire in the village. As a small crowd gathered about the burning house, thankful that no one had been inside, a group of unfamiliar figures dressed in dark black dress uniforms crept by. Russia walked with his hands in his pockets, fingers drumming on a pistol resting inside. He had utter confidence in his plan, that it would work—it had been planned and gone over a thousand times by each of his confidantes. The idea of throwing the entire land of Utopia out of balance put a smile on his face; he would destroy these countries and build them anew, creating the warmth of sunflowers where these blasted tomatoes had once been.

Russia looked up. Before him lay the great obsidian castle of Heart, the Corazón, it's walls glimmering in the morning sunshine. Today was the day; he could feel the tension burning in his troupe; especially coming from the girl beside him. "Belarus," he said softly, turning to the girl from before.

She smiled immediately, her eyes filled with adoration. "Yes, brother, yes?"

"Go ahead to the castle. Make our presence known."

Belarus cackled, pulling a long butcher's knife from near nowhere. "Yes, brother Russia!"

She stole off into the crowd, barely a streak of black, rushing to assault the Corazón, and Russia smiled. To his left, a timid young man with long brown hair turned his head, looking at his superior. "Sir…?"

He turned back to his subordinate with a smile, "Don't you worry, Lithuania. Everything is going to be great."

Lithuania gulped. He had the distinct feeling that anything he could be planning could not, in fact, be so great.

* * *

"_Feliz cumpleaños a ti, feliz cumpleaños a ti, feliz cumpleaños a Prussssiaaaaa! Feliz cumpleaños a tii!" _

The boardroom of the Corazón erupted in cheers as Spain finished his heartfelt rendition of "Happy birthday" towards his military commander. Prussia put his feet up on the large brown table in the center of the room and chortled, knocking back a large pint of beer. "Yeah, yeah, Happy birthday to the oh-so-awesome _me!_"

Romano, sitting across from Spain, sighed as he put his chin in his hand. He had always hated parties, and hated them with a freaking _passion. _Amongst the boisterous partiers, especially the birthday boy himself, "Captain Awesome", he was…well, he was bored.

"Lovino~! Why the long face?" Spain's voice snapped the young man out of his thoughts. He put his hands on Romano's shoulders, using his real name affectionately, "It's a party! Have a beer or something¸ _por favor?_"

"You know I don't like it." He grumbled, shrugging his shoulders out of Spain's warm grip, "This party is stupid. I don't even _like _Prussia. Can I just go back to sleep?"

Suddenly, before Spain could even reply, there was an ear-piercing shriek from the hallway. The entire room went silent—it was Spain who leapt to action first. He banged the door open, his hand at the blade at his waist. "What was that--?!"

"Your highness," said a surprisingly calm voice from the other end of the table, belonging to a tan man with dark hair, two small curls sticking up half-heartedly from the top of his head, "You shouldn't go."

"I'm going." Replied the king softly. More shrieks came from the hallways, along with a peal of laughter, "My subjects are in danger and I will not let them come to any harm. You all are to stay here, except Prussia."

"Birthday boy's getting some action! Alllll-right!" Prussia leapt from his seat and drew an impressive sized sword from his side, grinning madly, a gleam in his red eyes. "Let's go!"

Romano leapt from his seat. "Spain, you bastard, what about me?!"

"No, Romano. You are to stay, and that is _final._" Spain's voice carried an edge, like sharp glass. Green met brown in a matchup—Romano looked to the side, bitterly, and Spain turned on his heel. "I'll be back."

"Yeah." Romano mumbled as the two shut the door, "You better."

* * *

Belarus swung her knife throughout the hallways of the castle, painting the walls red with the spilled blood of castle members. She laughed delightedly to herself and called, "Brother, oh brother, it's safe~! Come on out and play with me!"

Each member she met, Belarus ruthlessly attacked, grinning to herself. Perhaps after the task was completed, Russia would marry her, after all. The very thought made the pretty young woman grin delightedly, twirling her knife in her hand. She made her way up the great spiral staircase towards the 'meeting room', where she would soon get to help her brother take down that Spain guy, and—

"Hey there, crazy lady."

Belarus whirled around, her Mary Jane shoes clicking on the lineoleum floor. Staring at her from the top of the staircase was a man with white, silvery hair and bright red eyes. He was waving a rapier lazily, watching her, "Who are you?!"

"Only the King of Awesome himself, Prussia!" Prussia replied, grinning as he pointed his rapier at her, "And I'm afraid I can't just let you slaughter people in _my _castle!"

"The King of…what? You're not the King! Spain is!" Belarus replied impatiently, swiping her knife in the air, "Take me to him or I'll kill you too!"

"Wow, you're pretty insane, arentcha? Tell ya what. I'm Spain's military commander, and I can't let you see him. However—you wanna fight—"

With that said, Prussia leapt from the top level of the stairs and landed with a heavy thud on the linoleum, pointing his rapier at her. "Fight _me!"_

_

* * *

  
_

Russia made his way through the halls of the castle undisturbed, having found a secret staircase though the back garden. Everything was working as planned. Belarus was on a rampant spree, taking out those left and right—soon, he would meet up with the King, Spain. Any moment now.

Lithuania followed Russia nervously, keeping an eye out for anyone around them, as instructed. Already, he had spotted two children in the garden, and shooed them to safety, thanking his lucky stars that his superior failed to notice them. He didn't like the endless violence that seemed to follow them around; the blood on the walls was starting to make him queasy.

"Lithuania?"

The brown haired man jumped at the voice; it was Russia, who smiled kindly at his subordinate. "Come now. We have to keep moving."

"R-right…"

* * *

Left, right, slashed across. Spain's saber cut through the air like a whip, keeping time as three burly soldiers surrounded him. They were cloaked in black so he couldn't see their faces—just their weapons, short jagged daggers. Spain blocked the slice of one with a swift hand, ducking under as another dagger sliced over his head. Quickly, he leapt in the air as two of the three soldiers rushed him; they crashed into each other and hit the linoleum floor, out cold. Spain turned to face his final adversary, keeping his saber at ready. Immediately, the hall was filled with the sound of clashing metal, the two soldiers fighting valiantly. However, the mysterious man was no match for Spain; faster than his eyes could see, he was on the ground, a massive X shaped wound across his torso. The king frowned, looking at the slain soldier. On his hand, there was a bright red mark—a _spade. _

A gasp of horror escaped Spain's throat. Immediately, he turned around, making a mad dash for the meeting room back upstairs, one thought on his mind.

_Romano!_

_

* * *

  
_

The door to the meeting room slammed open, not seconds later. The harried, rushed king stared into the room, to be met with a horrific sight.

His advisors…all of them …were dead.

People he had known, he had cared for, people who had been by his side since he was a tiny child were gone, lying slumped and broken against the walls of his cheery boardroom, their blood painting the walls red. Sitting in the center of the room, an easy smile on his face and a bloody pipe in his hand, was the King of the Spade Country—Russia. "Hello, Spain. How nice to see you!"

Spain's head spun wildly, full of emotion. There, bludgeoned to death were his friends, his closest allies…yet, Romano and Greece were nowhere to be found. Anger overtook him, his usually calm, happy demeanor broken as he swung his bloody saber into a ready position. "_RUSSIA!" _

_

* * *

  
_

**And there you have the first chapter of Wonderland. Hope everyone enjoyed it! :D I should be updating this sucker pretty often now, seeing as how Hetalia ate my brain after Otakon. (If anyone was there, I was the Femerica~! :D)**


	2. Chapter 2

Wonderland

AngolMoaChan

Chapter Two: The Diamond King

**I decided to finish this chapter early as a little birthday present to myself! Be glad my bday's the 27****th****, guys! XD**

**--**

"Eng~laaaaaaaaaaaaand!"

Sitting in a large, mahogany desk, elbow deep in paperwork, was the King of Diamond himself, Arthur "England" Kirkland, his blonde head bobbing as he signed his way through paper after paper. Undistracted, he continued writing; feverishly scrawling his large feathered quill across the white pages, hoping the annoyance would just go away.

Unfortunately, it never did.

The annoyance, who had earned himself his own private nickname in England's mind, was currently leaning on the doorway of his superior's office, a cocky grin on his face. Carrying a large bomber jacket over his shoulder, the blonde man adjusted his square glasses over his face, "Aww, come on, Iggy, I know you hear me."

"That is _not _my name, America. Can't you see I'm busy?"

Finally, a response from the King. He frowned at the one called America, his rather thick eyebrows furrowing. America ignored his irritation, shifting his weight with a cheerful grin. "The sun is shining, the birds are singing…it's a beautiful day, England! Let's get the hell out of this paperwork infested—"

"America, why aren't you wearing your uniform?"

America frowned, his cheer momentarily interrupted. He personally thought his attire was fine—black pants, a red, white and blue t-shirt, and his Diamond emblem, pinned on his broad chest. "What? That stupid thing? I don't like it—heroes don't wear wool."

England rolled his eyes and rested his chin in his hand, setting his quill down on the desk. There was a touch of affection in his voice as he spoke, "Hero this, hero that, blah, blah, blah…you're bloody irritating."

America just grinned in response, the insult sailing right over his blonde head. England sighed and shook his head, returning to his paperwork. America's "selective hearing" never ceased to amaze him.

Not that he would ever _tell _him that, of course. Being promoted to General of the King's Army at the tender age of 19 gave America a big enough head; any more compliments, and it might explode.

The thought made England chuckle. America's head exploding. Nothing would come out but fluff, he guessed.

"ENGLAND! ENGLAAAAAAAAAAAAND!"

The King was rudely snapped out of his thoughts by a high-pitched, horrified squeal. America barely had time to move out of the way as a red and blue blur shot through the doorway, only to be grabbed by the scruff of the neck. America turned, looking at his catch. "Oh, hello there, Italy."

Dressed in officer reds and blues was a young man with reddish brown hair, a terrified expression on his face, tears in the corners of his eyes. He was holding a white piece of paper, and only stopped sobbing to look at his captor. "Oh, America—"

America chuckled and set Italy on his feet, brushing him off, "What's wrong, little guy?"

England frowned, "I believe he was addressing _me. _Italy, how many times do I have to tell you, I'm the King now, and you should treat me as such—"

"But, but, England, it's terrible! I got a message from the Heart Kingdom!"

England frowned, raising one fuzzy eyebrow and ignoring the lack of well, respect. It wasn't like he meant it. "The…Heart? That's odd. What does it say?"

Italy's lip quivered, and he burst into tears, his small shoulders shaking with heavy sobs, "It—it--!"

"It's an SOS." Came another voice from the doorway. All three men looked up to see a tall blonde officer, who respectfully snapped a salute. "Your Highness, General."

"Germany," England replied, keeping his voice steady, "Is it a trap?"

He shook his head; Italy bawled loudly and ran over to embrace Germany, burying his face in the tall man's coat. "No. I believe it's genuine."

The King stood up immediately. "America—"

"Two steps ahead of ya, boss!" America, pistol already in hand, bounded out of the door, yelling all sorts of orders down the hallway. England grabbed a red and white coat from a rack beside him and pulled it on, looping a large rifle over his shoulder. "Germany, I'm putting you in charge of things until I get back. Understood?"

Germany nodded, snapping a salute. "Sir."

"Good." He headed out of the doorway and paused, midstep, turning back to look at Italy. He cleared his throat, blushing a bit." And…Italy—I'm sure your brother will be fine, and whatnot."

"Huh?" Italy hiccuped, tilting his head.

"N-nevermind." England muttered, and moved out, slamming the door shut behind him.

* * *

Romano panted as he leaned up against the telegram machine, sinking to the floor. As much as he hated to admit it, he _needed _his brother, and England, and the rest of those idiots at the Diamond Kingdom. Spain needed them. He interlaced his fingers together and looked over at the now barred, locked door, then rest his forehead against his hands.

"Romano," Greece said gently, moving towards the younger man, "Did it send?"

He nodded weakly. "Yeah…yeah, it did. Hopefully help will be coming."

"Good. Well then," He stood up and brushed off his knees, then held out his hand to Romano. "I know a way out through the kennels."

"The…kennels?" Romano looked up at him—a chuckle escaped his lips and he shook his head. "Hell, Greece, I would've never thought your cat obsession would come in handy."

Gripping his forearm, Romano hopped to his feet and moved to the barred door. Greece smiled and opened it a crack. "After you."

* * *

"Hahahaha, come on, girly! Can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen!"

Prussia laughed delightedly as he blocked Belarus' every strike, steel hitting steel as the two clashed. She was fast and strong, more so than he had been expecting, and Prussia was surprised to find himself having some _trouble. _That didn't happen often.

"Hold _still!_" shrieked Belarus, slashing her knife through the air, narrowly missing Prussia's forehead. He ducked the blade and brought his against it, slamming her knife down with the brunt of the force from his light weapon. A rapier—people had made fun of him for his choice of weapon when he was kid…until he beat their asses with it of course. It was light, fast, and strong, and Prussia wouldn't have it any other way. Belarus spun on her heel, bringing her knife around with a massive amount of force. With a loud clang, Prussia met her, steel for steel. As the two battled for dominance of the fight, Belarus grinned. "Fool! Don't you understand?! Even if you beat me, there will be more! You will become one with the Spade Country!"

"Spade country, huh? Have to say, I don't _like it there!_" The end of Prussia's sentence was barely a grunt as he sliced downwards, knocking Belarus' knife out of her hand. It sailed across the room before landing with a clatter on the black and white tiles. Belarus cursed in her native language—Prussia put his rapier at her neck. "Well, well! Look who wins, after all."

"You think you've _won?!" _spat Belarus, a grin on her face, even as the tip of the sword touched the skin of her throat, "Your precious little King is up there with my brother, and he's probably dead by now too! Just like everyone else!"

Prussia frowned. "The hell do you mean? My King—he beat _me! _Your precious 'brother' would be child's play!"

"Don't you _dare _insult him!"

"Who, your _broootherr?_ The weakling who's probably dead as a doornail upstairs?"

"I said…don't insult him!" Suddenly, Belarus slipped a small throwing knife from her sleeve, gripped the tiny handle, then threw it; Prussia narrowly dodged the knife screaming at his face and ducked backwards. This millisecond breach in the rapier at her throat was enough for her to dash out and grab her knife, holding at the ready. Prussia let out a long, low whistle.

"Sorry, girl. I took more violence from a girl than you could _ever _show me in this lifetime. You should just give up! There's simply no way you can beat me."

"WATCH ME!" with a shriek, Belarus rushed him, knife raised…

* * *

"Spain, Spain, can't we just talk?" asked Russia, same old smile on his face. Spain was panting, his saber still in hand. Russia wielded that pipe like an ancient weapon, and he could feel himself weakening with every shot he landed. Spain gripped his saber tight, his green eyes boring into Russia's.

"Talk? You murdered—all of these people!" Spain swiped his saber in the air for emphasis, then rushed him again, his own mind clouded with rage. Romano, Greece, so many people he had cared for with so much of his being, all dead now, because of one overly ambitious man. It made Spain sick. The dark-haired man thrust his weapon forward, and it clanged against Russia's pipe; the two Kings began circling each other, like lions on charge.

"Just join my country, da? No one else will have to die if you just give in, Your Highness."

"No one else_ will _die! I refuse to let that happen, not after so many already have. I'm sure that girl was just a trap, trying to suck me into a battle while you stole the Red Piece, hmm?"

The smile on Russia's face instantly went dark. "You fell for it…almost. I did not expect you to send Prussia."

"He is my military captain. I trust him." Spain replied, his face set in a tight line. "Only one person in this castle besides myself knows where the Red Piece is…and you, well, you _killed him_."

The venom in Spain's voice was real; there was so much anguish behind such few words. Russia frowned. "…Your right hand. The elder Italy, da?"

"What does it matter? You've killed him, and I—I will take the secret with me to my grave! You will never take the Heart Kingdom, as long as I, _el Rey del Pais de Corazón, _Antonio Fernandez Carriedo stand on this ground!" With that said, he leapt forward, his saber a mere blur as he took on Russia's pipe. Spain slashed upwards with the skill that had made him King; it was a shame that Russia was just as talented. Back, forth, back and forth they exchanged blows, their weapons nearly invisible at the speed of the battle. Spain feinted towards Russia's head and ducked under as his pipe sailed into the space where his forehead would have been and slashed towards his belly, slicing open his heavy coat.

Russia stumbled backwards and Spain saw his chance, lifting his saber. He sliced downwards, but Russia brought up his pipe, holding it with both hands. Spain pushed against the pipe, as hard as he could, pouring his grief, his rage, everything he had into the blade before him. Russia gripped his pipe hard, pushing upwards with similar strength—suddenly, with a great thrust, Spain's saber sailed into the air, and Russia had him on the ground, a smile on his face.

"We will find the Piece even without your guidance, King Spain. It was nice seeing you again, but I'm afraid you must join your little friends in death—"

Suddenly, there was the sound of lead hitting metal; Russia's pipe flew out of his hands as if shocked. Standing in the doorway, pistol in hand, was none other than America, who blew the smoke off of the weapon and grinned. "We got your message, and don't you worry, your hero has arrived!"

"Amer…my…message? What?" Suddenly, the Heart King began feeling woozy—all those hits to the head seemed to catch up to him. Spain saw stars, before finally hitting the floor, out cold.

* * *

"Bela!"

A voice echoed through the massive hallways of the Corazón. Belarus, hearing her name, perked up, leaping away from Prussia, who looked around for the source of the voice. "What the hell--?"

"We are done here for today! Reinforcements have arrived. We must go."

Belarus turned to Prussia and curtseyed. With a smile, the blood on her nose giving it a sadistic tinge, the girl turned and disappeared into the night, racing out of the doorway to surely, meet her brother.

Prussia let out a long sigh and slumped against a wall, resting his head against the cool stone. The cuts on his body were bleeding pretty hard now—that girl had sure as hell done a number on him. "Heh. Wait till Hungary sees _this…_she's got some competition in the Crazy Department."

* * *

**And that's the end of chapter two! What's the Red Piece you ask? Well, you'll find out next chapter. XD**

**Also, my Spanish isn't as good as it used to be. But the line in Spanish he said was basically "The King of the Heart Country" XD (Simple FTW.)**

** Also, this is my 69th story. And it's action, and not romance. What's wrong with me? XD  
**


	3. Chapter 3

Wonderland

AngolMoaChan

Chapter 3: Recovery

**Hey all~this is AMC, writing here! Summer's so great, isn't it? Time to relax, read…and write fanfic! 8D**

**Oh yeah…during the whole reunion scene, I listened to Bratjas from FullMetal Alchemist. It's so beautiful…and there's a line in the English translation that fits this part of the story. :D "_What's gone is forever lost, now all we can do is live."_**

* * *

It felt like years had passed when Spain finally opened his eyes. Everything was fuzzy and groggy, like someone had just taken him on a spin on a Merry Go Round for just a little bit too long—and then thrown him bodily off of it at top speed. Everything _hurt_, and his head pounded as the world before him slowly cleared. He was—not in his own castle, but somewhere else. The room was draped in dark blue, including the bed he was lying on, and there were various medical tools on the bedside behind him. So he was in an infirmary. _Ah, well, that's good. _

Squinting his green eyes, he saw a black diamond on the vest of the person now standing by his bed—he was in the Diamond Country. The person was dressed in the typical uniform of the Diamond Military, but flashier, somehow—all the colors were bright, and they hurt Spain's pained eyes. He blinked a few times, long lashes fluttering. "…France?"

"Well hello there, old friend." The man plopped down in a rickety wooden chair, his golden hair bouncing neatly around his shoulders. "You look a wreck."

Spain nodded, unable to come up with words. It was too much for the weakened monarch, so he just closed his eyes, gingerly lifting his forearm to rest over his face. "…Where's my saber?"

"Right here." France replied, gently tapping the bedside table with his hand. His friend's voice had changed—there was no _life _in it, and it hurt to listen to. This wasn't the Spain he had spent years marauding the Silver Sea with. This was a broken man. "You took a beating, Antonio. Had us all worried."

"…I know. What happened…?"

The blonde shook his head. "Haven't a clue. I wasn't there. You'll have to ask England or America, they came charging in like fools."

A weak smile crossed Spain's face. America had saved him—he would probably owe him the rest of his life. " Yeah…yeah, I know. And…the castle?"

France's eyes flickered downwards. "…it's gone. Burnt to the ground."

"…What?"

"Before they escaped—a bomb. Someone had put a bomb in the kitchen. If England hadn't discovered it, you would have lost _everyone._"

Spain looked to the side dully. "I did lose everyone."

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again. "...where's Prussia?"

"Prussia is…" France rubbed his temples, sighing, "Walking around the castle like he owns the place, and demanding beer every which way. He's fine, as usual, claiming he's invincible and all that. You, my friend, were lucky. Your city escaped without much harm. It seems they were after you…and the Red Piece."

"Probably both. At least my country is still alright." The Heart Monarch said softly. He had lost so many—so many that were so important to him. They would be gone forever. Forever…

"Old friend," France put his hand on Spain's shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Be glad you escaped with nothing more than a concussion and some bruises. You are alive."

"Yeah, but—!" He looked over at France, green eyes aching with pain.

"There were a few survivors. I'd be happy to go get them for you."

France stood up and moved towards the door, brushing off his uniform. It hurt him to see his oldest, greatest friend, the silly Spaniard with a soft spot for tomatoes and cute things, so upset. The loss of his country had affected him greatly, but he had a feeling that wasn't really it.

So, in a way, he was glad he was the one to bring him good news.

* * *

When the door opened again, Spain was able to look. Holding his head, he sat up, only to be met with a face full of Italy.

"Brother Spain~! We're so glad you're okay!" sobbed the young Italian, throwing his arms around Spain's neck.

So it was the younger Vargas, Italy. Spain's heart wrenched at the thought, the Italian brothers cut down to just one. Even so, he gently put his hands on Italy's back, smiling weakly. Best to comfort those left, no matter how much it hurt. "Feliciano…your brother…I couldn't…"

Italy let go of him for a moment, brown eyes wide. "My-my brother?"

"Bloody hell, Spain. We thought Death choked you already."

Before Spain could say anything, he saw England standing in the doorway, looking as regal as ever. America was right behind him, grinning as he waved a hand. Spain nodded weakly, a small smile on his face. "Yes…me too."

"We brought someone you'd like to see, if you're feeling up to it." England said gently, stepping into the room. Italy jumped off of the bed, standing beside the King and rocking back and forth gently on his heels, "Are you?"

"I'm fine…"

America stepped aside of the doorway, still grinning that same, pearly grin. Standing behind him was the last person Spain had ever expected to see again.

Russet colored hair, a curl sticking of the right side, chocolate brown eyes, that perpetual frown on his face.

The person walked over to the bed and sat beside him, leaning over and punching him in the shoulder. Not hard enough to injure him but—a punch nonetheless. Spain's breath hitched in his throat, and he threw his arms around his best friend, his right hand man—Lovino Vargas, "_Romano!" _

It was as if a great weight had been lifted from Spain's shoulders, and the world that had come crashing down around his head just replaced its first brick. His shoulders shook as he sobbed into Romano's collar, holding him as tightly as he could, like he would just flutter away in the breeze if he let go. Romano was here—living, breathing, frowning, but _alive. _So very alive.

"You're such a fucking moron, Spain! Shit! Fighting Russia like that, what the hell were you thinking?"

A mirthful laugh bubbled from Spain's throat. It was so good to be scolded—to feel a sense of normalcy! He finally released the bone-crushing hug, putting his hands on Romano's cheeks as he pulled him away to look at him. "How did you…"

"Get out? You forget who my _family _is. If there's anything the Vargas' are good at, it's running away." Romano scoffed, then sighed. "Greece got me out through the kennels."

"Greece—Greece? He's here?" he asked incredulously, green eyes wide.

He nodded. "A couple others, too. Now would you get your hands off of me?"

Spain brought their foreheads together, tears flowing from his green eyes. "My apologies, _amado…_but I can't, I won't—what if I lose you again?"

Romano let out a heavy sigh; he could already feel the warmth rising to the top of his ears. "Stupid, I'm not gonna just disappear. Now…just stop fucking _crying, _okay? It pisses me off."

He nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, "Ha ha…I'll try…"

England watched the scene before him with a small smile, leaning back against the wall behind him, his arms folded. After the tragedy that had occurred, the young King was, more than anything was, glad it turned out all right. But worry bubbled in his chest, the thought of Russia, the Russia he had met so many times before, attempting to take over the Heart Country, of all places…England cleared his throat gently, red marks on his cheeks. "…Sorry to interrupt, but can we ask you two some questions?"

"Geh? You're not _interrupting _anything." Romano went several shades of scarlet red and half-heartedly pushed at the Spaniard hanging onto him like a lifeline. "What do you want to know?"

"Spain," England asked gently, "I know it's all been rough, but…is the—"

"The Red Piece is safe," Spain murmured, "Trust me. They'd have to disembowel Lovi to get it."

"They…wait, what?"

All the room's occupants stared at Spain, who gave his normal, cheery smile. "What? I needed somewhere safe to put it, so I stuck it in a tomato and fed it to Romano."

Four mouths dropped wide open.

There was a pregnant silence in the room, as each occupant tried to comprehend what the Heart Monarch had just said. Several things happened in the seconds afterwards. America started cackling, laughing until he was doubled over, England stared at Spain like he was an idiot, and Romano—his hands were at Spain's throat in a second.

"YOU-BASTARD! YOU FUCKING _FED ME _THE RED PIECE?! ARE YOU FUCKING RETARDED?!"

"Gah—ahh! Lovi! I'm choking!"

"Brotherrr~!" Italy gasped, running over to Romano and frantically trying to pull him off of the injured Spain, "His injuries!"

"OH, I'LL SHOW HIM SOME GOD DAMN INJURIES! _BASTARD!" _

"Hahahahahahaha! Oh god! That's just—priceless!" America wiped tears from his eyes, clapping a stunned England on the back, "Freaking brilliant, Spain! I hope you didn't try that on anybody, Iggy! They'd _die!_"

"I have half a mind to shove the Blue Piece up your_ ass, _America!"

Italy dragged a kicking and screaming Romano off of his superior, giggling himself. That was pretty funny, after all. Especially his brother's face—he looked like he was about to kill someone…and like he was about to cry. "H…How did you do that, Brother Spain?"

Spain smiled a little, rubbing his throat gently, "Hehe…it was red, after all…and Romano tends to inhale his tomatoes before looking at them…"

"…That's…lovely." England, hand firmly pressed to his face, muttered, "So…basically…you hid the most important artifact in your entire culture, the one that lets the Carriedo dynasty even _rule…_in your advisor's…stomach?"

He nodded. England let out another sigh. Sad thing was—he was starting to see the simple brilliance in the plan. The Red Piece would latch onto whoever it was with, clinging to them like a burr, so that it was very, very difficult to steal—but very hard to hide, at the same time. The little piece would stick right to Romano's stomach and hold there; it was indestructible, after all. That was fairly…ingenious.

While England was attempting to comprehend this piece of information, Germany entered the room, pushing open the door. "King—what happened here?"

Italy immediately let go of his brother with a happy squeal and latched onto Germany's waist, burying his head in his shirt. "Germanyy~! You should have heard, it was so funny! Brother Spain's awake, and he—"

"_Feliciano,_" growled the elder Vargas, using his brother's first name as a threat, "Tell that potato bastard and I swear, I will rip your ahoge right out of your head."

"Ahhh! No! Brother, that's so meeeeaaan!" Italy gasped in horror, looking away, "How could you say that?!"

Germany sighed, rubbing his temples. Before Romano could slip in another expletive-laced rant about potatoes and his brother and Spain, he turned to England. "Sir, you have a message from the Spade Country."

"The…Spade Country?"

Silence filled the room. England stood up fully, straightening his coat out with one hand. "Yes, give it here."

"It's a video, sir." Germany replied, "From their King."

* * *

**God, I love Spain. XD He's my favorite country by far. Brilliant plan, huh? Now, why would Russia contact the others so early in the story? And why hasn't this chapter been injected with awesome?**

**In due time, fair readers! You'll get a good dose of Prussia next chapter! Promise! XD**


	4. Chapter 4

Wonderland

AngolMoaChan

**I just wanted to say thank you to all you guys who have reviewed, added me to their favorites, alerts, whatever—thanks! Stuff like that is what makes me want to do quickie updates.**

**Also, I got a review from someone asking me about the similarities to this and You Can't Take the Sky from Me. After rereading that fic, I kind of noticed them. XD Sometimes when you read good fic it just sticks in your head, you know? I must have been doing it unconsciously. I'll be more careful of that from now on. Thanks so much for pointing that out! C:**

**Music for this chapter: "Libera Me From Hell" from the Gurren Lagann OST. C:**

**--**

The tension in the Diamond Fortress' meeting room was near tangible as the occupants of the room made their way towards a crystal screen. Romano fidgeted in his blue chair, feeling uncomfortable, out of place—and scared. He'd never been more scared in his entire life.

Russia wanted to _talk _to them.

"So, where's the vide-thingy, huh?" asked the man seated to Spain's left; Prussia. He had his feet up on the table, and there was a gleam in his red eyes that seemed downright thrilled. The military captain was itching for a fight, that much was obvious—he and America both.

England stood before the table, his fingers touching the "receive" button. His heart pounded against his ribcage as he looked from face to face at the table—Spain, Romano, Italy, Germany, Prussia…and America. He grinned at England, flashing him a thumbs up, oblivious as ever.

Stupid git.

And, though he'd never admit it out loud, the simple gesture was enough to steel the Diamond King's courage. He pressed the red button and turned to the crystal screen before them, his hands behind his back.

Within moments, the image of a fair-haired man with brilliant violet eyes appeared on screen. Dressed in a black uniform with a red spade over his heart, the Spade King smiled disarmingly at the group before him. "Hello, Diamond Kingdom! And…oh? The Heart King, as well…? Seems your injuries have healed well."

Spain frowned, his eyes narrowing. "I could say the same for you."

Russia's smile grew. He directed his attention towards England, and said, his voice cheerful, "I've come to strike a deal, England."

"A…deal?" The room echoed with Russia's sentiment. England's eyebrows furrowed as he looked up at the Spade King, his tone wary. Something was off here, "What type of deal?"

"Well, I have two friends from the Diamond Kingdom who came to visit me. Isn't that great?" replied Russia, stepping slightly away from the camera. Behind him, there were two wooden chairs being guarded by a shaking, pale-haired boy. The occupants of the chairs were tied up—both were unconscious. Russia walked over and put his hands in the person in the left chair's hair; it was a girl. He lifted her head with a gentle tug, revealing pretty, feminine features and a flower in her hair.

Prussia stood up, slamming his hands on the table, a look crossing his face that could only be described as pure rage. "Hungary!"

"I wasn't going to capture this young lady, but she just would not get out of my way! She nearly killed Lithuania, and we just couldn't have that, now could we?" Russia said, his voice belaying an easy calm. He dropped Hungary and moved to the other figure; Prussia let out a loud swear.

"You prissy bastard, you didn't let him capture you--!"

The male of the two captives had dark hair, a curl sticking up from the top, and his closed eyes were neatly framed by thin glasses. "He just wandered here—I haven't seen Austria in so long, it was wonderful!"

Prussia grit his teeth, his hands instantly moving to the rapier at his waist. "You sick son of a—"

Suddenly, England held out a hand, silencing the glowering, furious captain with just a look. He turned to the screen and asked, his voice hard, "What "deal" would you like to make?"

"Oh, it's very simple! I want you to bring me the Blue and Red pieces and join my country. We can rule over everything together, da? Me, you and Spain."

"No thanks," replied the Diamond King, his tone dark, "I'm not interested."

Russia looked rather hurt at the accusation; he frowned at England, sticking his hands in the pockets of his large jacket. "Ah, well. Spain?"

"I'd rather _die._"

"Hm. Well…it is okay. I did not want to take it by force, but if you insist…"the Spade King replied with a smile, although the shadow covering his face betrayed his true meaning, "I shall have to. And Austria and Hungary are going to stay with me for just a little while longer. We're going to have a wonderful time. Goodbye, England."

"No--!"

Prussia moved forwards to attack the screen in a blind rage, just as the video feed cut off. He hit the wall with one fist, dropping his rapier at his side. The entire room was dead silent, taking in the horror of what had just been said—at the horrendous uncertainty of it all.

"No…dammit…this _can't _be happening! Fuck!"

In an instant, Spain and France were up from the table, moving beside the military captain. "Gilbert!""

"Roderich—and—and Elizaveta!" Prussia punched the wall, leaving a good size dent in the plaster. His shoulders shook with rage, his muscular frame trembling. Spain bit his lip, glancing at France, then at England.

"England," he said softly, green eyes meeting those of his fellow King. England let out a long, deep sigh; then a frown came over his face.

"America!"

"Yessir!" snapped back the blonde military captain, leaping up from his seat. If the situation were lighter, England would have smiled; America listening to him was a rare sight indeed.

"I want you to call Japan," he commanded, heading out towards the door and pausing on the doorframe. "Tell him and the others of the Clover that we need their help."

"…Help?"

"Yes, help. We are going to rescue Austria and Hungary, you twat! We can't just go running in there with no back up, now can we?"

Every head in the room turned to look at England, most struck with awe; a huge grin cracked America's face and he bounded out of the room with another cheery salute, whooping his way down the hallway. Prussia was the first to speak again, looking at the Diamond King. "…I'm going too."

"Of course you are—if it is alright with your King…?"

Spain nodded, standing up. "I'd like to go as well. As a refugee of your country, may I have permission to join you on this expedition?"

"…Permission not granted."

The Heart King looked as if he had been personally insulted. His fists clenched at his sides, and he asked, fire blazing in his green eyes, "How could you—"

"Your injuries, Antonio. You aren't healthy enough to be an asset to me in this. I want you to stay here with the Vargas' and run my country while I am away." England's voice was steel, daring the Spaniard to challenge him, "Do you understand?"

"…tch!" Spain looked to the side, his voice bitter, "Understood."

"Alright then. We move out at dawn," England looked over the people at the table, his features hard. "Do you understand?"

"SIR!"

* * *

"…And that is the situation."

The Clover King, a young man with dark hair tied in a ponytail, drummed his fingers on the desk before him as he studied his lieutenant and close friend, Japan. The young man was emotionless as always, his brown eyes steady on his commanders. Ever polite, he bowed, placing his fist over his heart. The King waved it off, frowning intensely as he looked over the papers on his desk. There was a letter, manilla parchment and fancy scroll, signed with the red seal of the Spade country, sitting atop of the deep mahogany frame.

He had read over that letter so many times now, it was creased and worn from where his fingers crumpled the delicate paper. _China, _it read, _I would like to request an alliance with your country tomorrow, when the sun sets. Please meet me in my Kingdom then. _

And he had signed it with his real name; a rare gesture from _Russia _of all people. _Sincerely, Ivan Braginiski. _

China's brow furrowed as he traced the symbol of the Spade with one pale finger. The letter had come early this morning, arriving on the back of a Featherbat, a creature indigenous to the Spade Country, and now, after hearing the news about Spain…

His stomach lurched at the thought.

Russia was trying to take over Utopia. That much he knew. And while his gut told him to join England and the others in their crusade against Russia, his heart recalled flashes of memories; of two princes and of a promise made in the dark of the night.

Uneasily, his hand moved to his heart. The mark of the Sacred Promise was there; a deep, dark black Spade. He _couldn't _refuse a request from his friend. He swore not to. And if he did…he would perish.

"Your highness…?"

China took in a deep breath, slowly looking up at his subordinate. "…send them Korea. We will see what happens from there, aru."

"Sir." Japan replied; though a slight tic of his eyebrow revealed his confusion. China sighed.

"Don't look at me like that. Im Young Soo can handle himself…mostly. I'm sure that's all the help they need, aru."

Japan said nothing; he mutely turned and headed down the hallway, out to tell his soon to be ecstatic peer of the news. China was hiding something—Japan was not stupid.

He frowned as he reached Korea's room, then stopped, and stepped into his own office, reaching for the phone. His left hand touching the black scabbard at his side for reassurance, the lieutenant set about to call his friend America once more. Yes, the Diamond would get help, and not just from Korea—from himself.

* * *

**Phew…sorry that took so long everyone! This chapter was hard to write for some reason…;u; **


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